Several weeks back, I observed a teenage girl—a Pan-Atlantic University student—quietly standing in front of a Chris Afuba sculpture at our institution’s gallery, the Yemisi Shyllon Museum of Art.
Amidst her classmates who were busy taking selfies, glancing at their phones, and discussing deadlines, she remained a calm presence. As if ensnared in a personal dialogue with the art piece, she stayed rooted in place. Unlike them, she neither reached for her device nor called out to anyone; instead, she merely observed intently from afar within the exhibition hall.
I could not fathom the thoughts swirling through her head from my vantage point, yet I identified a distinctive focus reflected in how she carried herself—a kindred concentration surpassing mere scrutiny. At this juncture, rather than perceiving only the juxtaposition of materials like wood against metal before her eyes, she seemed enveloped by a profound connection. This artwork appeared to serve as a conduit connecting different realms. Her stance and unwavering quietude resonated deeply with me. It stirred memories of previous encounters wherein masterful creations drew me inward toward dimensions far removed from everyday perception. Moments when gazing upon such pieces transformed them into entities brimming with life’s subtle rhythm. Instances devoid of critical analysis—times solely defined by being fully immersed therein. Such fleeting instances stripped bare all else around us until we sensed touching something ethereal barely grasped.
In today’s digital era, this moment featuring a young woman before an Afuba sculpture holds greater significance. The shift towards rapid consumption over thoughtful reflection is evident. Nowadays, people prioritize picture-perfect experiences for social media over meaningful interactions. Recent data indicates that despite increased museum visits following the pandemic, guests now spend approximately 28 seconds per piece on average, suggesting a decline in prolonged engagement with art.
What makes extraordinary works of art so potent? These creations bring the unseen into view. At their finest, they serve as gateways. On most occasions, people hurry through museums somewhat preoccupied, yet sometimes, something breaks through this haze. The texture of a canvas, the form of a statue can suddenly arrest our attention. It’s more than just connecting with an item; it’s about touching upon a sensation, recalling a moment, grasping onto a reality that remains unnamed.
When I speak of the “invisible” in art, I’m not invoking the supernatural. I mean the intangible things that make us human: love, grief, wonder, sadness, memory, longing, conscience, presence, soul, God. We cannot photograph these directly, yet they define our humanity more than anything we can touch. Through art, these realities find a form. A gesture. A presence. That’s probably what the girl experienced with Afuba’s sculpture–its contrast of wood and metal, organic curves meeting industrial edges, sparked a quiet recognition, a moment of inner clarity. Not analysis, but revelation.
The conundrum of art lies in its tangible nature, which simultaneously enables us to grasp the intangible. Significant works of art do not instruct us on how to feel; instead, they generate a space for our personal emotions to stir. In this realm, form and hue communicate through a tongue we were unaware we comprehended.
Certainly, not every piece of art manages to accomplish this. A great deal of contemporary gallery exhibits serve primarily as decoration or commerce. They are made to be observed instead of truly felt. Such artworks may grab attention but fail to move one’s spirit. Many are technically proficient yet devoid of depth, prioritizing form over content. In our rapidly accelerating world, both creators and viewers frequently opt for superficial allure.
This instance with the girl held significance because it wasn’t overly dramatic; rather, it was genuine. As this young lady stood transfixed in front of the artwork, she likely encountered more than meets the eye—perhaps catching an ephemeral glimpse into unseen dimensions. In her silent focus lay a growing rarity: respect. This sentiment was directed neither towards the gallery nor the creator, but toward the experience at hand. She may have sensed that a profound interaction was taking place between herself and the piece of art.
The invisible in art encompasses memory and history–both personal and collective–that resurface through images and textures. It includes the spiritual and transcendent dimension: that quiet sense of something beyond us that certain works mysteriously evoke. It embraces human dignity and presence, as in portraits that reveal more than appearances. And it encompasses meaning itself: values and insights that resist literal explanation but become perceptible through metaphor, symbol or silence.
For that student, the sculpture turned into a mirror revealing more than just her outward appearance—it echoed her emotions, queries, and developing sense of self. Such instances hold great significance. They underscore that despite our era dominated by algorithms, we still possess hearts and souls.
The spiritual aspect of art continues to be one of its least recognized elements. Spanning from ancient cave drawings to medieval churches, from African tribal masks to contemporary abstract works, art serves as our means to transcend the physical realm—not for avoidance, but to enhance our connection with it. You do not need specialized expertise to appreciate this concept. A truly exceptional piece of art—one among very few—can profoundly affect you without requiring an explanation. Such work encourages contemplation. It creates a setting—a personal and unexpected arena—where experiences unfold. This creation does not impose itself forcefully; rather, it engages quietly in dialogue, provided you choose to participate in that exchange. Though difficult to articulate, these encounters stay with you long after they occur. Top-tier artists grasp this essence deeply.
I once experienced this reality in Ibadan, at a friend’s house. In a secluded spot sat an ancient Yoruba wooden figure—worn out, plain, nearly neglected. Its purpose was not decorative; it merely existed. Upon questioning my host regarding it, they described the piece not as art, but rather as a silent observer and confidant. This statue had endured years of quiet presence. Instead of seeking praise, it yearned to be acknowledged and recalled.
Today, we risk losing this depth. We frequently reduce art to investment, content, or branding. Market value overshadows meaning. Yet art’s most vital role has always been different: it gives shape to what cannot be said. It carries the invisible for us–and with us.
And sometimes, as I believe happened with that student, the boundary between viewer and artwork dissolve. The sculpture wasn’t just an object–it became a portal. The most powerful works don’t simply show what we already know. They surprise us. They reveal what we had not guessed or expected, what we hadn’t noticed was missing. They stretch perception beyond the physical into emotional and spiritual dimensions.
When you next feel touched by art, take a moment to stop and listen. Ponder this question: What unseen truth is becoming apparent? Within the gap between observing and experiencing, something significant might unfold. This period allows our ability to perceive the world around us to grow subtly yet profoundly.
Meaningful art isn’t loud; it speaks softly. Instead of fading quickly, it remains. Rather than disappearing without a trace, it marks our existence. It tells us that we’re not just buyers or statistics—we are individuals—complex, spiritual, and yearning for connection. What can be seen aids us in grasping what cannot. Art doesn’t provide direct solutions, yet it presents visuals, forms, and narratives. Through this subtle process, art accomplishes an extraordinary feat: it enables us to perceive things anew.
As for the girl at the museum, I’m not sure exactly what she found intriguing about Afuba’s sculpture. However, I can confidently say that something occurred during their interaction. At that gathering, an intangible entity momentarily manifested itself. In our superficially contented world, this quiet moment stands as a form of defiance. That alone is sufficient.
·Dr. Castellote serves as the Director at the Yemisi Shyllon Museum of Art, located within Pan-Atlantic University.
Provided by Syndigate Media Inc. (
Syndigate.info
).